Plan Cannot Possibly Fail
by Universal Queen
Summary: A collection of short tales from the perspectives of various main characters, who feel perhaps erroneously that their plans cannot possibly fail... WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS!
1. Davy Jones

**Plan Cannot Possibly Fail**

Disclaimer: I do not in any way, shape or form own any of the characters from any of the _Pirates of the Caribbean _movies. They are the exclusive property of Gore Verbinski, Ted Elliot and Terry Rossio, and by extension the Disney Corporation. This story contains MAJOR SPOILERS for all three movies—as well as what I hope are a few humorous musings about what might have been going on in the heads of some of the characters. Please do not sue me—I make absolutely no money from writing this. This is art for art's sake. Thank you, and enjoy.

* * *

_Lonely is all we are_

_Loveless so far_

_But my heart's still a marble_

_In her empty jelly jar_…

—TV on the Radio, "Young Liars"

**Davy Jones**

Seeing Calypso not only bound in flesh, but also subject to captivity behind iron bars, gave Davy Jones an immeasurable sense of justice being served.

Even a goddess could be punished… And she deserved every grueling day of it.

She had abandoned him. He had loved her with every fiber of his being—loved her enough to remain chaste for 10 years, so that only she could use him—and she left him all alone, waiting fruitlessly, on the one day he'd been given to devote to her.

He hid his true pleasure, watching her sniffle and sob and grip the bars and try to feebly explain her "nature." He was not fooled. There was nothing "natural" about the Calypso he knew. Natural women were small, and meek, and honest.

Calypso, human or not, was deceitful and false. She still had many tricks she could play—one of which was to, ever so briefly, allow him to feel human and alive again.

_Damn that cruel bitch_, he thought, when the feeling ended. _Damn her_ and _her sentiment_. Davy Jones was not going to let this pitiful excuse for a woman—this hell-hag—this abomination unto the Lord—feel superior…

But she did not. She was crestfallen, humbled. All she did was talk about how she loved him—tentacles and all, monstrous as he seemed now, possibly "cruel"—she insisted, voice breaking with sorrow, "I would give you my heart…"

Once she was free, she meant. Not now, of course.

Not that he would have let her do so in that overly fragile skin…

But she loved him still, and she despised the Brethren Court for having bound her in mortal flesh. For doing so, she vowed—with passionate bitterness—to kill every last one of them when she could unleash her fury.

This divulgence gave Davy Jones two very important pieces of information. Firstly, that Calypso finally appeared to respect, or at least understand, the raw, emotional power of human suffering and rage. Secondly, it did not seem to occur to her who might have first _told_ the Brethren Court how to bind her…

She had no suspicions.

She gave those worthless mortals all the credit.

She was going to kill every pirate in the Brethren Court because she had no idea of the very interesting conversations Davy Jones had with them several decades ago. And, because of her apparent lack of this knowledge, he was in the clear…

So he did not lie, per se, when he told her, "My heart will always belong to you." After all, how could she ever know the truth if the Brethren were dead, and safely in _his_ domain to do with as he pleased?


	2. Weatherby Swann

**Weatherby Swann**

Elizabeth Swann was making an absolutely horrendous mistake, and her father knew it. Weatherby Swann knew—deep in his heart, down to his aging bones—that his legacy was in dire jeopardy.

Perhaps he should have taught her to respect her mother's memory.

Perhaps he should have forbidden her from reading those dreadful, salacious misconduct books.

Perhaps he should have allowed his servants to punish her for her misbehavior; to instill the fear of God in her; to make her understand the responsibilities of her station.

Perhaps he should have just plucked up the courage to take another wife with which to bear a son. But no, for such actions would have been fruitless at his age—no woman could possibly replace his late wife, and he was fortunate enough to have fathered Elizabeth seventeen years ago.

Perhaps he should never have undergone the crossing to the Caribbean—or at least he should have had the restraint and sense of security and faith in his servants to simply avoid taking Elizabeth with him.

Perhaps, if he had left her in England, she would have been civilized properly, and understood how imperative it was that she attached herself to a husband of means, substance and status.

The blacksmith's apprentice had no means to speak of, little substance, and no status in society—save as a common laborer and an acquitted_ pirate_! Even the smallest whisper of infamy, legally exonerated or otherwise, absolutely would not do, for it was neither honorable nor indeed profitable.

It went without saying that Will Turner was a supremely poor investment. He was, of all Elizabeth's potential choices, the second greatest threat to the Swann legacy. The first, of course, being the notorious Jack Sparrow, whom Weatherby had seen Elizabeth eyeing twice and whom, thankfully, had disappeared without having the temerity to even grant a mock-proposal. Weatherby was quite certain he would have murdered Sparrow had he done so, and that no court could possibly have convicted him.

But Elizabeth actually _liked_ Will, and that was deeply problematic. He had absolutely nothing to offer her in exchange for her hand in marriage—and she was hell-bent on pursuing him, regardless!

This was an extraordinary thing to Weatherby—marrying for love—he found it strangely premature and frighteningly insistent and terribly unwise. Yes, granted, he recalled hearing of perhaps one or two aristocratic women in his circles back in England who had chosen their husbands for reasons completely unknown to their parents. But those women had each been one of several younger sisters—_never_ the eldest or only daughter—and marrying without express parental consent was not a thing done lightly.

Further, love itself was _never_ a sufficient enough reason to be bound in holy matrimony among the upper classes. After all, Weatherby had not married his wife because he loved her. Both of their families had arranged their marriage, when he was 16 and she 12. And—after an extended courtship period (of five years), an official engagement, a temporary breaking of the engagement, a re-engagement, an actual marriage ceremony, the resultant acquisition of her parents' land and property, and two decades of living together—their love for each other slowly came to fruition and blossomed. It wasn't until Elizabeth had been born, and her mother died, that Weatherby realized just how much he had come to love his wife.

He wept bitterly upon losing her…

And he could not, in good conscience, allow his beloved, cherished, only child to align herself with a peasant and an outlaw, who could never possibly understand or respect the responsibilities of the aristocracy. For laborers were, in a wide respect, counted among the peasantry and the poor. Those types had no legacies to begin with, so how should they ever conceive the very real possibility of _losing_ one?

Perhaps Weatherby should have put his foot down, once and for all, and forbade Elizabeth from marrying Will. It would have been for her own good, and though she would initially be inconsolably upset, she would come to understand her father's intentions. He only wanted what was best for her, and it was his duty as a father to protect her. But when she looked into his eyes—with that face so like her mother's—and asked, "Please, Father? May I buy Will a new coat and breeches?"—he could only hand her a coin purse and say absolutely nothing at all…


	3. Hector Barbossa, Part 1

**Hector Barbossa**, pt. I

Hector Barbossa was on edge. He and the others had to act fast in order to outwit Jack Sparrow, for the captain was wily, if not batty.

But, in a way, Jack had brought this coming mutiny on himself.

He was never truly effective when it came to pillaging from merchant vessels—he always insisted on playing mind-games with the targets first, with the intent of tricking them into handing over their goods without a fuss. And for every one time his hair-brained schemes worked, ninety-nine times they would fail miserably and, inevitably, somebody would get shot.

He was deeply irrational, and given to screaming in hysterical outbursts about vicious monsters deep in the oceans and dead men who walked among the living. Oftentimes, these flare-ups were accompanied by violent sword-swings and Jack's breaking bottles over the heads of anyone in the immediate vicinity. Thankfully, these fits only occurred at night and when he was sober (which was rare). When he wasn't sober, however, he was either bleeding their rum supplies dry, or he would lose himself in Tortuga or Singapore, and the Black Pearl would find herself without a captain for several days. Two years of this outrageous behavior, and Hector never could come up with a plausible excuse for Jack's excesses, other than, "It's Jack Sparrow, mate—what did you expect?"

On top of all that, Jack was a haughty, downright selfish excuse for a leader. He had painfully little respect for the democratic process, though he seemed a perfect savant at manipulating the opinions of his crew when given any opportunity to open his mouth. He even knew where Hernan Cortes' famed Aztec treasure was hidden, and deliberately kept that knowledge to himself.

It was only through Hector's gentle, seemingly benevolent arguments—coupled with his subtle plays to Jack's paranoia—that he convinced the captain to give him the location of the treasure.

If only Jack knew his first mate's true plans. And surely, Hector reasoned, he must know something, if not everything. For Jack was wily, batty, naïve in the workings of the human mind, and everything but stupid…

And now that Hector finally had the coveted bearings, it was time for the crew, and himself, to make haste!

"Help me take the Pearl," he implored his crewmates, after Jack had forayed into Tortuga, without them, for the third time that month. "Jack Sparrow has proven, time and again, that he is undoubtedly incapable of leading this crew properly. Help me take the Pearl from that bloody nutter, and I'll give you each your fair share of the treasure he's been hiding from us!"

The majority did not require much convincing. They would surely have ripped Jack limb from limb if Hector had willed it. But, no—killing him would be too easy. Hector had something much more devastating, much more personal, in mind for that reprehensible bastard. Something Jack, batty or not, would remember till the day he died…

All they needed was for Jack to saunter back, pissed out of his head, and order the crew to set sail—to Port Royal, to England, to Singapore—it mattered little where Jack wanted to go this time. Then the crew would make a slight detour, according to Hector's direction, drop Jack on an uninhabited island, head for Isla de Muerta, gather up the treasure and spend it on everything they could possibly want or need for the next year and a half. Or six months, whichever came first.

There was, unfortunately, one little problem: Bootstrap Bill—one of three or four exceptions to the rest of the mutinous crew. He disagreed with the arguments made against Jack, and, being a man of principle and honor, he was extremely reluctant to participate in the uprising against a captain he happened to like. It was, however, with much persuasion—as well as a rather pointed threat to the welfare of Bootstrap's wife and son in England—that Hector managed to convince the opposition to, if nothing else, keep his trap shut around Jack and not give away the plotters.

As if Jack would ever consult Bootstrap on such matters as crew loyalty, anyway…


End file.
